


5 times Aziraphale had to remind Crowley he deserves basic human decency

by trashtrashtrash03



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human AU, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Jewish Aziraphale (Good Omens), Jewish Crowley (Good Omens), Little bit of angst, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Talk of past manipulation/abuse, Talk of past noncon, Trans Crowley (Good Omens), and feelings talk, nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23775598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashtrashtrash03/pseuds/trashtrashtrash03
Summary: +1 time he didn't need to!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 227





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Starting a new fic instead of writing an old one? It's more likely than you think.
> 
> This fic is essentially me getting on my soapbox about ~healthy boundaries~  
> 1\. Boundaries are important!  
> 2\. If you have a partner who respects your boundaries, good! As they should! They don't deserve a cookie!  
> 3\. If you are a partner who respects others' boundaries, good! As you should! You don't deserve a cookie!

It was date night at their favorite sushi restaurant, and while the food was divine, his date was the only thing he could quite focus on. His beloved, sitting across the table, with his red hair falling in gentle waves to his shoulders, his light brown eyes nearly gold in the dim lighting. He had dressed up a bit, wearing a loose-fit silky black top that hung low around his collarbones. Oh, he was in rare form tonight, exuding a kind of sexy confidence that Aziraphale couldn’t help but drink in like a fine dessert wine.

Crowley had been making eyes at him over the dinner table all night, and Aziraphale had half a mind to Dine and Dash simply to get home and into bed that much faster. Well, clearly, he would have paid. Just, without seeing the bill or the server. In all likelihood, he would have overpaid. Cash and Dash, then.

When they finally – _finally—_ burst through his bedroom door, after a _very_ heated car ride home and a _very_ clumsy ascension of the bookshop staircase, Aziraphale spared a moment to admire the shirt. He undid the ties at the top and pressed a kiss to his exposed collarbone.

“Like this one, do you, angel?” Crowley leisurely tipped his head back, allowing his boyfriend more room to explore the column of his neck.

“Like it? It’s ridiculous. You look like a pirate.” He replied against Crowley’s skin, teasing.

It sounded like the joke landed, based on the way Crowley huffed a laugh. He felt long, nimble fingers fussing with the buttons on his waistcoat.

“Not so fast, my dear.” Aziraphale pushed Crowley so that he fell backwards onto the bed, and straddled his hips before he could make any attempt to sit up. Aziraphale took Crowley’s hands in his own and pinned them above his head, leaning in very close. “I’d rather like to focus on you for a bit.”

Recently, and at Crowley’s encouragement, Aziraphale had started to explore his own potential as a dominant force in the bedroom. With every interaction, he found himself pushing his own boundaries, and Crowley had responded overwhelmingly positively to each new step. Nothing quite so extreme that they’d bought any equipment yet, but simple things like a stern word or a hair tug seemed to elicit beautiful responses from his love.

He rearranged himself so that both of Crowley’s wrists fit into one palm. He ghosted his free hand over Crowley’s neck, just a suggestion, wrapping his fingers all the way around but not pressing down just yet. Throughout the motion, Aziraphale watched Crowley’s face. His eyes, while directed at Aziraphale, became unfocused and distant. Usually at this point, Crowley would be doing something encouraging, like nodding or begging.

Aziraphale felt his brow furrow gently. “Is this alright?” He gently squeezed the hand holding Crowley’s wrists, trying to elicit a response.

Crowley looked past him now, at the ceiling, his honey eyes still seeming rather vacant. Aziraphale watched with concern for another moment before realizing that Crowley had stopped breathing. _Fuck._ He tumbled off of him, retracting both hands, and curled onto his side facing Crowley. He was careful to leave a few inches of space between them. Crowley’s eyes fell shut and he shuddered out an uneven breath.

“Crowley. Breathe with me, hm?” He inhaled loudly through his nose, exaggerated the slow exhale through his mouth. He was pleased to see Crowley’s chest rising and falling in time with his breathing. “You’re alright. You’re safe.” Aziraphale murmured comforting words quietly in between slow, calming breaths. After a few moments, Crowley turned to look at him, a complicated swirl of emotions pouring from his eyes. Panic, confusion, and… guilt?

“I just need a minute.” Crowley looked back at the ceiling, brow tight as he braced himself for… something.

“Take as long as you need, my dear, there’s no hurry. Would you like some water? I’ll get us some water.” Aziraphale moved to stand, but Crowley shot out a hand to stop him, bringing him back down onto the bed.

“I’m good, angel, I’m okay.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, clearly steeling himself, before diving in for a bruising kiss.

Aziraphale deliberately softened the kiss, resting a hand on Crowley’s bare chest and pushing gently away. “Darling, you’re not. It’s alright. You’re allowed to be not okay.” He stood up from the bed and cast a loving gaze over Crowley. His long, red hair had been mussed by their brief tumble. His chest still heaved with newly-caught breath, old white scars under his pectoral muscles catching the light with every motion. His eyes still glinted wildly with panicconfusionguilt. “I’m going to get us that glass of water. I’ll be just a moment.”

Aziraphale shut the door behind him, resolving to give Crowley more than just a moment to collect himself. He had never seen Crowley like that before, in all the months they’d been sleeping together. It might have been a panic attack, a dissociative event, something else, he wasn’t sure. He knew that Crowley had experienced his fair share of toxic – borderline abusive, even – relationships in the past, but nothing had ever been explicitly mentioned about sexual trauma. Maybe it was something to do with having his wrists held down. Or the way he had touched his neck… Aziraphale tried to remember anything Crowley had ever mentioned in passing about why certain touches might be off-limits, but nothing came to mind. It was the glint of guilt in his expression that truly concerned Aziraphale. The idea that Crowley was somehow to blame, that anything was _owed…_

Returning to the closed door of his bedroom, glass of water in hand, Aziraphale took a deep breath. His worries and speculations would do nothing for Crowley right now. What he needed was unquestioning tenderness. They could discuss this event in the morning, if Crowley was in a more level headspace by then.

He opened the door slowly to see that Crowley had turned off the light and burrowed under the covers. Letting his eyes adjust for a moment, Aziraphale tiptoed around the bed to place the water glass on the bedside table nearest Crowley. He couldn’t get a good look at his face beneath the blankets and the tousled hair, but he was still and quiet as if he’d fallen asleep. With a smile, Aziraphale tiptoed back around the room and slid into bed next to his love.

It was only once he had fully settled and the room became completely silent that he heard a choked breath from Crowley. Followed by a distinct sniffle.

“Crowley?” He whispered into the dark. The body next to him shuddered. “Are you crying?”

Crowley, lying with his back to Aziraphale, tried to make himself smaller, curling tighter in on himself.

Aziraphale’s heart pulled. “Oh, my dear boy, come here.”

Something in Crowley seemed to give as he rolled over and threw himself into Aziraphale’s waiting arms. His chest shook with silent sobs, his face burrowed deep into Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale could do nothing but run a hand through Crowley’s hair, shushing him gently. In between Crowley’s stuttered breaths, he could hear him whispering something like a mantra.

“I can’t hear you, darling.” He said gently.

“ _I’m sorry!”_ Crowley keened, his body wracked by another heavy sob. Like a dam breaking, he finally released the tension in his chest and allowed the sounds to rip out of him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

One hand in Crowley’s hair, the other on his shoulder, Aziraphale squeezed gently. “You have nothing to apologize for.” He pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “ _Shh, shhhh.”_

After a few shuddering breaths, Crowley raised his face to Aziraphale’s. His eyes shone in the darkness with unshed tears, and the redness around his iris made the golden brown look yellow. “Are you upset with me?”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but reel back a bit. “No, of course not. Why on Earth would I be upset with you??”

“Well, because, we were gonna… I know you wanted to... but I just- and then you _left_ and I-“ Crowley brought his hand up to gesticulate through his stutter-stop sentence before Aziraphale cut him off.

“My dear, I would never be upset with you for not wanting to have sex. You could tell me right now that you never want to have sex again and I still wouldn’t be upset with you. I love you, and if you don’t want to do something, that means I don’t want to do it either.” Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s cheek and lifted until Crowley’s eyes met his own. “Understood?”

Crowley’s gaze flickered away from the intense moment before returning. “Are you sure?”

Azoraphale raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Am I sure that your wellbeing comes before my craving for physicality? Yes, I’m quite sure.” He hoped that spelling it out like that made Crowley realize how silly he sounded.

A heavy sigh escaped Crowley as he nestled back down onto Aziraphale’s chest. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, dear boy.” Aziraphale pressed another kiss into Crowley’s flaming locks, feeling his breathing start to even out.

“You’re too kind to me, angel.” Crowley mumbled, pressing a kiss into Aziraphale’s belly.

“This isn’t kindness, my dear, this is basic respect. There are no apologies or thanks needed here. I’m not deserving of praise simply because I’m treating you fairly.”

A gentle snore was his only response. Ah, well. They’d discuss it again soon. Aziraphale let his love’s gentle breathing lull him to sleep.


	2. 2

Aziraphale stood awkwardly in the entryway of Crowley’s ramshackle little apartment. Crowley had promised he’d be quick to grab the last few boxes and had refused to let Aziraphale offer a hand. “It’s nothing, angel, just one last trip and it’s done.”

He couldn’t believe that nearly two weeks ago, this place had still been fully furnished. It somehow felt like years ago and just yesterday when he sat Crowley down, told him how much he loved him, and presented him with a key to the bookshop.

“ _Would you like to be domestic partners?”_

_“HAH!” Crowley looked as if his own exclamation took him by surprise as much as Aziraphale. “Oh my god, are you asking me to move in with you?”_

_Aziraphale sputtered. “Well, yes, is that so odd?”_

_“No, luv, no, I’m sorry, I just-“ He chuckled to himself. “_ ’Domestic partners _.’ You’re so… you. Angel, nothing would make me happier.”_

He stood, waiting in the entryway, reminiscing. At least when Crowley returned with his last few items, he could hold the door open and make himself useful. His gaze drifted to the floor, where he noticed a small stack of letters that hadn’t been there yesterday.

“You ought to see about getting your mail forwarded, dear.” He called into the apartment. His voice reverberated loudly off the bare walls.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get to it.” Came the reply.

Something on the top of the stack caught Aziraphale’s eye: “URGENT: FINAL NOTICE” He leaned in closer and saw that the letter was from what seemed like a hospital or a medical billing center, and it was addressed to one Rachel Crowley.

“Ah, something seems to have been delivered to the wrong place.” He said, mostly to himself.

Crowley rounded the corner, then, balancing three small boxes in his arms. “Oh yeah? Someone nearby? We can drop it at the right address.”

Aziraphale shook his head, eyes still on the envelope. “It was sent to this address, but – my dear do you have a relative named Rachel?”

He looked up to see that Crowley had frozen, looking at him with a deer-in-the-headlights expression.

Oh.

_Fuck._

“Oh, darling, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t-“

Crowley shook himself and tried to saunter past Aziraphale – not an easy feat, sauntering around another person in a narrow hallway with an arm full of moving boxes. “S’alright. I’ll, uh, yeah I’ll look into getting my mail forwarded. Bring those along, would you?” He hurried out to the Bentley, not looking back.

He followed Crowley out to the car, stomach in knots. How could he have been so dense? To think it was a letter meant for a sister or a mother, instead of what it truly was. Not only had he learned Crowley’s deadname without hearing it from him directly, but he had said it out loud. He felt like he needed to rinse with mouthwash, thinking about how much pain and prejudice Crowley had endured from people who wielded that name against him like a weapon. Transphobia applied like a poison to the arrowhead of that name. _I’m sure that’s what they called him when they told him he was no longer welcome in his only home,_ Aziraphale thought to himself with vitriol.

And now, Crowley would always know what it sounded like in his voice. How it sounded to be deadnamed by the man he loved – the man he _lived with_.

Aziraphale felt heat behind his eyes, but he squashed it. This moment was not about him. The last thing he wanted was for Crowley to feel pressured to assure him that it was alright, that it happens, that it doesn’t bother him as much as it used to. No, Crowley deserved the space to react to this how he needed to. The only thing Aziraphale could do was remain calm and try his best to expunge the name from his memory.

He slid into the front seat of the Bentley, immediately picking up on Crowley’s frayed nerves. Without a word, the redhead threw the car into traffic and navigated them across London with a bit less verve than usual. It was only at a red light, about halfway home, that Crowley looked over at his passenger. He spoke quietly.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone.” His eyes flickered up to Aziraphale’s and then back down at the seat.

“I would never, my dear boy.” Aziraphale reached over to rest his hand on Crowley’s thigh, and gave what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

He heard a hiss of relief, air leaving Crowley’s lungs like a pressurized cylinder. “Thank you.”

“No thanks needed, of course. What kind of partner would I be if I divulged that kind of thing without your consent? What kind of _person?”_

Crowley let his eyes revert to the road when the light changed, but Aziraphale did not miss the way his eyes darkened. “Plenty of people do it. ‘Oh, you know Anthony? Well did you know he used to be-‘”

“Not _good_ people. Not people you need to bother yourself with.” Aziraphale gave another reassuring thigh squeeze before retracting his hand, bracing himself on the center console as Crowley took a sharp turn.

A few moments of silence reigned, and then Aziraphale piped up once more on the subject before resolving to drop it. “Darling, would you like me to call and see if I can get this company to address your mail with the correct name? Anthony is your legal name, it should be simple to notify them and update their records.”

Crowley sighed as he pulled the Bentley into its new semi-permanent parking spot in front of the bookshop. He turned the car off and gripped the wheel, facing forward. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Well, I’m offering. If it’s something you would like done, but you don’t want to do it, I certainly don’t mind.”

Aziraphale found himself under the intense gaze of his love, those honey-golden brown eyes piercing through him.

“You’re a literal godsend. You’re such an angel.” He leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Oh, my dear, it’s nothing. Just a small chore. I’m happy to do it.” He got out of the car, walking around to the back to help with the boxes.

Unfortunately, Crowley beat him to it. He leapt out of the car and grabbed up all the boxes, leaving Aziraphale emptyhanded once again. “Still, I appreciate it. I’ll owe you one.” He started to head for the bookshop when Aziraphale stepped directly into his path.

“You most certainly will _not_ owe me.” He took the top box from Crowley’s stack with a defiant nod and hurried inside before his boyfriend could have anything else to say about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: if you accidentally deadname or otherwise misgender someone, the best thing you can do is calmly fix it. No one wants to listen to long winded apologies, or worse, the "oh my god i'm the worst person alive" speech, after which the other person winds up comforting you. It's manipulative. Just acknowledge it, fix it, move on.


	3. 3

At the sound of the bell above the door tinkling, Aziraphale looked up from the till he was counting behind the front desk of the bookshop. “Hello, dear, how was work?”

Crowley stomped his work boots onto the welcome mat heartily before crossing to the counter to lean over and give his angel a quick peck. “Alright! They brought on a new guy for this job and he’s a riot. Ligur. James Ligur. Real good with the hedges, too, which is just as well because I fuckin hate trimming hedges.” Aziraphale hummed, familiar with his darling gardener’s opinions on the idea of hedge trimming. _Why the fuck does anyone want a plant that looks like a perfect rectangle anyway? What’s the point of it being a plant? Who’s fucking idea was this?_ He let Crowley continue rambling while he finished counting the till and filing the end-of-day report. “So anyway, I’m digging up what’s gonna be a bed for the rosebushes, and guess what I find? A fuckin chameleon. So I holler to the others, I’m like, ‘Hey, there’s a fucking chameleon!’ And this new bastard, Ligur, runs right over to pick it up and-“ Crowley started to lose himself to remembered laughter- “he- he put it right on top of his head! And he walks- he walks away, getting back to the hedges, and the little thing just-“ another wheezed laugh- “just stays put! Sits there on his head for at least a whole minute like nothing had changed!”

Aziraphale smiled up at his love, who was leaning on the front counter for support while he laughed openly. He allowed himself to be swept along by the story and his laughter for a moment before turning to unlock the safe behind him. “What did you do with it?”

“Bee had to make a bunch of calls. What do you even do when you find a chameleon? Turns out, it was somebodies. Neighbor’s kid let it loose or something. Ligur honestly looked a little sad to have to give it back.” He exhaled a quiet laugh. “Yeah, he’s gonna be a riot to work with, I can just tell. He, uh-“ Crowley cleared his throat. “He asked me to come to the pub, later tonight, actually.” His tone thinned with anxiety.

Aziraphale locked up the day’s deposit and turned back to see the gardener exuding a false sense of calm, so different than his stance just ten seconds ago. “Sounds like fun. Are you planning to go?”

Crowley shook his head quickly. “Of course not. I told him I’ve got somebody.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Ah, he was asking you _out,_ then?” His lips pulled up into a wry smile. “On the first day of working together, how very _bold.”_

“No, no, it wasn’t like that. He invited a bunch of people from the project. I don’t even think he’s queer.”

Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow. “Then why on Earth would the fact that you and I are together preclude you from going out with your coworkers for drinks?”

“Oh, I just, didn’t think you’d want to, you know, these guys can get pretty rowdy, and I know the pub’s not really your scene.” Crowley was doing his best to make Aziraphale’s scrutiny roll off of him, his tone deflective and his posture forced-casual.

Aziraphale’s confusion deepened. “Well, that’s all true, my dear, but you could certainly just go without me.” He shook his head, baffled. He was sure there were cartoon question marks above his head.

Crowley squinted at him for a moment, expression conveying pure confusion, before it reverted to the hyper-casual mask. “Nah, not feeling a pub night myself, either. Let’s just have a quiet one, eh angel? We’ve got that leftover curry.”

Aziraphale left the counter to flip the sign on the door to _Closed._ He locked it behind him and turned towards Crowley. “Are you sure, darling? I can keep myself well enough occupied here if you want to go out with your friends.”

Crowley waved his concern away, approaching him slowly. “What I _want_ , is to eat some leftover curry with my _domestic partner”_ he drawled the words out in mocking as he looped his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders, “while we curl up in bed and watch One Day at a Time on my laptop.” One of Crowley’s favorite surprises he discovered after moving in with Aziraphale was that he was a bed eater. In the classic war between the propriety of eating food at a table (or at the very least, in a chair) versus the sheer hedonism of eating food in bed, his angel’s hedonistic side often won out. It was wonderful. He drew Aziraphale in for a slow, tender kiss. “But first, I want to shower, because I’ve got at least a pound of topsoil in my hair.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but be swayed. “That does sound like a lovely evening. I’ll sort the food while you shower.”

A few hours later, they lay in bed, empty bowls and glasses stacked precariously on the bedside tables, while their third consecutive episode began to play automatically. Aziraphale nestled himself into Crowley’s chest, pressing a gentle kiss through his sleep shirt, settling in for the next episode. He wasn’t a huge fan of television, but Crowley liked these easy, silly sitcoms, and the story was engaging enough. And, of course, how could he _not_ love Rita Moreno. She shone nearly as bright these days as she did when she starred in West Side Story all those years ago. Aziraphale was a bit of a sucker for that show; something about a star-crossed lovers plot always managed to draw him in.

_Ding!_

Crowley reached for his phone with the arm that was not currently full of boyfriend. The way he balanced his phone against his hip to unlock it, Aziraphale couldn’t help but see the notification.

It was a message from Bee, a photo of them with a few other members of the landscaping company that Aziraphale couldn’t name, all sat around a dimly lit table that was covered in empty pint glasses. The message subject was “Hope your date night is lame!”

Aziraphale waited for Crowley to chuckle good naturedly at Bee’s ribbing – because that was just so _them,_ wasn’t it? But he heard nothing. He stole a glance up at his face and instead saw wistful melancholy. With a roll of his eyes, he reached out and paused the show.

“You’re ridiculous. I’m sorry for eavesdropping on your texts, Crowley, but you clearly want to go! You should spend some time with your friends.”

Golden eyes looked down at him, confused and a bit panicked. “But-“

“I want you to go, dear. It’s important in a relationship to continue to invest in your friendships, to keep a healthy support network that’s separate from your partner.”

Aziraphale watched those words churn in Crowley’s mind slowly. “You wouldn’t be mad?”

“ _Mad?_ Of course not! Why on Earth- gracious, Crowley, get dressed! Call your friends and tell them to save you a seat.” He swatted good-naturedly at Crowley until finally the redhead rolled out of bed. He tutted to himself in exaggerated consternation. “’Will you be mad’. Honestly.” What on Earth had prompted a question like _that?_ He added it to the mental list of things to bring up when he finally sat his love down for a Conversation.

Crowley ruffled around their room, wiggling himself into his impossibly tight black jeans, a low cut black t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. All sharp angles, jagged edges, like a cut crystal that glimmered when the light hit it. The final touch would be his very stylish black sunglasses, oh, he would be such a vision.

Aziraphale relaxed onto his back, already looking forward to a quiet night of reading while his love was away. He watched Crowley bustle around the room for a few minutes more, gathering whatever bibs and bobs he needed to go out, intermittently texting back and forth with Bee, presumably. Finally, he rounded the bed to press a kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead.

“I’ll try not to be long.” He looked at Aziraphale, who could still feel waves of anxiety pulsing off of him. He pictured Crowley arriving at the bar, chugging one beer, and turning right around.

With another, more punctuated eyeroll, he tutted. “There’s really no need, dear boy. Don’t feel rushed. Stay as late as you like.”

Crowley pressed a firm kiss to his lips now. “You’re entirely too good to me, luv.”

Aziraphale leveled a heavy gaze at him. “It’s really nothing, Crowley, I want you to know that this is nothing. If I were the kind of person to try to talk you out of social time with friends, I’d advise you strongly to break up with me.” His eyes were imploring, lending weight to his words, but Crowley managed to laugh him off. He never took this kind of thing seriously, Aziraphale had started to notice with concern.

“Ah, you couldn’t get rid of me that easy, angel. Alright, I’m off. How do I look?” He stood back and did a half-turn, clearly trying to pad the previous, rather intense moment with humor.

Aziraphale gave an exaggerated, put-upon sigh and indulged him. “Just absurd. Like if Freddie Mercury was goth.”

Crowley sauntered towards the door and tossed over his shoulder, “Perfect, thanks!”

 _Incorrigible._ Aziraphale scoffed fondly after his love, and once he heard the downstairs door click, he stood to clear their dishes. A bit of puttering about, cleaning, brushing teeth, and then he could choose a book to bring to bed with him. He realized, suddenly, that it felt nice to be home alone. For as long as he’d lived alone in this apartment, he had rather forgotten in the short time since Crowley had moved in. And, of course, he was over the moon to have him here. Domestic bliss at nearly every turn. But still, he felt that old, familiar kind of peace in his empty apartment, like he could stretch his metaphorical wings.

He wondered to himself if Crowley had been craving this feeling, the comfort that a moment’s true solitude could bring. He wondered, after a thought, if Crowley understood himself well enough to be able to identify that craving, or if Crowley felt safe enough to ask for it when needed.

Tucking back into bed, he resolved to think of a reason to leave Crowley home alone sometime soon.


	4. 4

Aziraphale heard the door slam shut and heavy footfalls in the kitchen. Swaddled in blankets and nose-deep in a book, Aziraphale merely sat and listened. He thought he could hear Crowley muttering to himself in the kitchen, too quiet to discern the exact words, but loud enough to communicate his tone – he was frustrated about something. As if the slamming of cabinet doors and heavy thunking of glasses onto countertops wasn’t evidence enough for that.

Heavy footsteps approached the bedroom door, and Aziraphale kept his eyes trained on the page in front of him, with no intention of continuing to read.

_Thump, thump, thump, bang!_ Crowley barged into the room, visibly ruffled and very nearly fuming at the nose like a cartoon bull. In his hand, a tumbler of something amber and, likely, very high proof. He stomped around the bedroom for a moment, not acknowledging Aziraphale.

“You’re home late.” Aziraphale intoned gently, not lifting his head from his book although his eyes had been tracking Crowley’s movements for a moment.

Crowley stilled dangerously, voice low. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He tossed his phone down onto the bedside table, stripped the majority of his clothes off hurriedly, and stormed off to the bathroom without so much as a glance.

The sound of the shower starting was like a spell being broken. Aziraphale sighed heavily, and rolled his neck. He had given up on his book for the night. He bookmarked his page and let the tome rest on his lap for a moment. Crowley had been coming home in a bad mood recently, ever since the new project had started. He had been… less than forthcoming about the details of the project, and positively reticent about his moods. Aziraphale knew that something was wrong, but he didn’t feel that pushing Crowley to open up would do any good. Even gentle reminders that he was here to help, happy to listen, etc, earned him a snarl and a few hours silent treatment. So he waited, hoping that once the project ended next week he’d have his crooked-smile, sardonic, flash-bastard partner back. Maybe then they could talk about it.

A yawn took him by surprise and he ran a hand over his face. It must be _quite_ late. He rolled over to place his book down on the bedside table and grabbed Crowley’s phone, quickly clicking the lock button to check the time. He took a moment to smile at Crowley’s look screen, a blurry selfie of the two of them in St. James’ Park. Aziraphale remembered the day fondly. They had gone out for a picnic on one of the last nice days of Spring before the weather got oppressively hot and sticky, when city streets and buildings would trap heat and cook the city like a furnace. In the photo, Crowley was sitting with his legs sprawled across a checkered red and white blanket, and Aziraphale was leaning back against him, snuggled up in between his legs. Aziraphale had his head tipped back, looking up at Crowley like he had hung the stars. Crowley was looking at the camera, eyes obscured by dark glasses but a gentle smile visible regardless. His red hair glowed in the sunlight of the day. Aziraphale found himself smiling sadly at Crowley’s phone, repeatedly clicking the button to keep the screen alight. He _missed_ him. Crowley had been on this project for nearly two weeks, and they’d barely had a proper conversation. He was up and out early, coming home late, always in a tetchy mood while he was home. The poor thing was clearly overworked, and he clearly needed a break, so Aziraphale tried not to burden him further with expectations and relationship conversations. But God, did he miss him.

In his maudlin musings, he failed to notice the sound of the shower stopping or footfalls moving towards the bedroom door. When the door opened, Crowley stood with his red hair darkened by the water and twisted up into a makeshift bun. He looked at Aziraphale with wide eyes. Heated. _Angry._

“What are you doing?”

Aziraphale failed to sense the dangerous undertone to the question. He simply set Crowley’s phone back down on the bedside table and rolled onto his back. “Nothing, my dear. Are you ready for bed?”

He stormed over, picked up his phone, and snarled at Aziraphale “ _Nothing._ Really? Got nothing better than that?” He stomped around the bed to flop heavily onto his side, harshly scrolling through his phone as if looking for something.

Aziraphale was at a loss and frankly, a bit fed up of bearing the brunt of this attitude for such a long time. He huffed and turned to face Crowley, sitting up a bit straighter. “I think that’s quite enough, Crowley. I understand you’ve been having some kind of trouble at work recently but I can think of nothing that I’ve done to deserve-“

Crowley fixed him with a hard glare. “Aziraphale.” Now, the edge in his tone was clear. “What. Were you doing. On my phone.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened at the implication. “Oh, darling, truly nothing. I rolled over to check the time and I was just looking at your lock screen photo. Honestly, I didn’t even unlock it!” Crowley squinted, disbelieving, but he sighed heavily out of his nose as some of the tension left his shoulders. “Remember that day? We were so happy, and I haven’t seen you smile in what feels like _ages_. I miss you.” A hand drifted towards Crowley, but he stopped before he made contact with his bare shoulder.

Crowley searched his face for a moment longer, seeing nothing but genuine concern, before deflating completely. He curled onto his side, facing Aziraphale, and let out a shuddering breath. Not quite a sob, but certainly just as full of bottled-up emotions.

“My _dear boy.”_ Aziraphale couldn’t bear this. He placed a hand on Crowley’s shoulder and slid closer, making his lap as available as possible for Crowley to curl into if he liked. He let his hand drift gently over his wet hair, muttering quiet reassurances. “Please, my love, what is going on?”

He was delighted when Crowley did pick up his head and rest it on his thigh.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly not nothing, dear, you’ve been snarling at me for nearly two weeks.” He tried to keep any animosity from bleeding into his tone, aiming for pure concern, but he might have missed by a hair.

Crowley turned his head upward, finally making eye contact that wasn’t laced with steel. “I’m sorry, angel. God, I’m so sorry. I’ve just been – it’s work stuff, it’s this project… this fucking client- I” he huffed again, turning to press his face into Aziraphale’s thigh once more. He pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s cotton pajamas before returning his gaze upwards. “It’s no excuse. I’ve got shit going on at work, but it doesn’t mean I get to treat you badly. I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes and leaned into Aziraphale’s touch.

“You’re forgiven, dear boy, of course. I understand. I just-“ _want to hear all about your problems so I can fix them all._ Not exactly the healthiest instinct, he scolded himself internally. Aziraphale was not perfect in boundary-setting, himself, even if of the two of them, he won by a landslide. “I just hope you know that you can trust me. If you’d like to tell me about your troubles, I’m here for you. I also hope that you know that you can trust me not to search through your phone.” He quirked an eyebrow, borderline teasing.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “I do trust you. I do. I just, I know you’ve been waiting for me to tell you what’s going on and I just didn’t want to bother you with it but you’ve been so _insistent,_ always asking and checking up on me and stuff. I walked in and saw you looking at my phone, and I-“ He squeezed his eyes shut. “I panicked. I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath, bracing himself for something. “I was scared of you finding this one text conversation.”

“You don’t have to tell me, dear.” Aziraphale murmured quietly, not stopping his gentle motions through Crowley’s hair. The redhead continued to lean into the touch.

“No, I ought to. I’ve felt like shit keeping it a secret. I’m sorry, by the way, that I did. It’s really nothing, it’s just. Remember, when you let me go out for drinks that night, and I told you that my coworker Ligur wasn’t asking me out and he’s probably straight?”

Aziraphale didn’t like the phrasing of _you let me go out_ but he decided to circle back to that one later. Now that Crowley was being open and vulnerable again with him, he was afraid to break the spell. “Mhm.”

Crowley turned his head slightly, eyes looking at their bedroom door. “He’s – uh – he’s not straight. There’s a text conversation, in my phone, where he talks about his ex-boyfriend and how he’s a lot like me and how ‘maybe he does have a type after all’. But I’m sure he’s joking, it’s just how he is most times, like funny flirty with no intentions.”

Aziraphale huffs a small laugh through his nose. All that, for something so minor? Crowley was nothing if not consistent in his flair for the dramatics. “Darling, even if I had been snooping in your phone, which I wasn’t and will never do, because you have a right to your privacy no matter how close we get – even if I had stumbled upon that conversation with no context, I wouldn’t have been upset. There’s nothing wrong with a little silly banter like that between friends. Hm?” He coaxed Crowley’s eyes up to his, running his thumb gently from his hairline down his cheek. “I trust you implicitly, dear. You don’t need to report back to me about a bit of harmless flirting. You don’t owe me that.”

Crowley seemed to be relaxing into Aziraphale’s touch, because he let a real wry smile twist his lips and reach his eyes. “You’re weird, you know that, angel?”

“Oh, certainly, but not about this. This is quite normal, dear. Maybe not in your experience, because I know you’ve had more than your fair share of manipulative and controlling partners, but people who love you _ought_ to trust you. You _deserve_ to have your privacy respected. You’re worth that and so much more.”

Crowley’s eyes flickered down, and his bottom lip wobbled for just a heartbeat. He swallowed heavily before looking back up.

“I’m sorry for being such a brute for the past little while. I was guilty about this stuff and I’ve been working really long hours with this bitch of a client, and it’s just made me so irritable.” Crowley winced, as if awaiting judgement.

Well, he’d find none here. Aziraphale leaned down to press a kiss to his temple. “I’m sorry for pressing. You deserve to have space to yourself to work through these things. I just wanted to help. You never have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

Crowley smiled up at him. “I know, luv. Thank you.”

They sat quietly for a moment, Aziraphale still carding his fingers through damp copper.

“This client-“ Crowley rolled his eyes, sliding easily into Bitch mode. “Fuckin wants a complete overhaul of her big ass garden in two weeks. Two weeks! She wants fruit trees put in and she wants birds of paradise and Heliconia to grow year round – do you know how many kinds of tropical flowers are native to England, angel? None! So we’re there all hours, fielding all sorts of weird questions and trying to meet impossible expectations, but that’s not even the worst of it.” He huffs angrily before continuing. “The reason I’m so pissy all the time is she keeps making these shitty anti-Semitic comments. Old WASP lady comes out, sees us all toiling in her front yard, and has the nerve to tell Bee to stop ‘Jewing her down’ on the price or some such bullshit. Every day it’s something new. And she says it like she doesn’t even know it’s offensive. Like, obviously no one in her immediate vicinity could be Jewish because Jews aren’t real people, they’re lizard-people who run globalist cabals, goblins who work in banks and count gold all day, whatever bullshit people think. And when I try to mention it to Bee, that it upsets me, they’re no use. They’re so good about a lot of stuff, but they just don’t see this as a big deal. It makes me feel like maybe I’m overreacting but then I know, I _know_ it’s not okay but-” He curled further into Aziraphale’s lap. “I’m just fuckin tired.”

Aziraphale hummed. “I’m sorry darling, that’s so frustrating. Although, I can’t say I’m surprised about Bee, considering how much of a hard time they gave you for taking time off for Passover. I wish Bee was a bit more understanding, but I hope you know you’re not overreacting and it’s not all in your head.” He spoke lightly, leaving Crowley room to continue speaking if he chose to.

He stewed in silence for another minute before piping up. “I keep thinking one of these days I should just show up in a kippah just to get her to shut up about it.”

“You should trim her hedges into the shape of the menorah.”

Crowley barked a laugh at the though. Aziraphale smiled deviously, thrilling in the sound of his love’s laughter.

Finally, now that the tension had broken, the couple chatted late into the night. It truly felt like they hadn’t seen each other all week. Aziraphale had other things he wanted to bring up, but he selfishly put them on the back burner for now. He let the conversation wind easily, and when Crowley finally started to yawn and doze, he gathered him up in his arms without hesitation. Tonight, he just needed him close. The rest could come later.


	5. 5

Early morning sun filtered into the room as Aziraphale sat at the counter with his tea and toast. It was Tuesday, and he had decided that today would be one of the alternating Tuesdays that the shop was closed. He didn’t much keep track of which Tuesday was which anymore.

He heard a gurgled, unintelligible greeting and turned to see Crowley stumbling out of the bedroom. His long hair frizzed out into wild curls, as it always did when he washed his hair before bed. His chest was bare and a pair of black sleep pants rode low on his angular hips. He stretched his arms, leading his joints in an orchestra of pops and crackles.

“Good morning to you too, handsome.”

Sleepy, gold eyes met his own and smiled warmly. Crowley crossed the room to stand behind Aziraphale where he was perched by the counter. Long, lithe arms wrapped around him and a bony chin came to rest on his shoulder. He twisted slightly to press a kiss to the side of Crowley’s tousled mane.

“What do you have on today?” He took another sip of his tea.

“Mmm nothing. Got the day off, remember?” Aziraphale had remembered. He’d been plotting for this day for some time. Crowley likely needed some alone time in the apartment, and he likely didn’t even know he needed it. Aziraphale would need to leave, and it wasn’t enough to go downstairs and open the shop, because then Crowley would come downstairs and spend the day with him anyhow. No, Aziraphale needed to give his love some proper space.

He merely hummed in acknowledgement of Crowley’s question. Crowley relinquished his angel in favor of fussing with the coffeemaker. Another new addition to the apartment, and looking at it always brought a small smile to Aziraphale’s face. Little things like that, Crowley’s coffeemaker sitting in _their_ kitchen, tugged at his heart. Oh, what an old sap he’d become.

“Why, what do you have on?”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I had spoken to a collector in Richmond about a few old tomes that might need refurbishing, I thought I’d pop out there today, maybe take a turn in the gardens as well.”

Crowley made a face over the edge of his mug before taking a considering sip. “I spose that could be fun. What time were you thinking of heading out? Want me to drive?” He leaned over to steal a bite of Aziraphale’s toast, already speeding up his motions in a clear attempt to catch up to Aziraphale, who was dressed and ready.

“No need, it’s not far on the bus. I can manage it. And I wouldn’t want to take your off-day, my dear, you should relax.” He stood and cleared his dishes, noticing without acknowledging physically that Crowley had stilled.

“You’ll go alone, then?” A thread of anxiety in his tone.

“Why, of course, I’m not so spoiled by you that I forget how the buses run.” He moved past Crowley and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Ye of little faith.” He gathered his keys and his satchel and stood at the door to the flat. Crowley had not moved except to track Aziraphale with his eyes. On edge, like a prey animal tracking a predator. Aziraphale thought he might have an inkling as to what Crowley was worried about, but he decided to play it off as best as he could. When he came home later, if his love was still skittish, they would finally have that Conversation he’d been promising himself all this time.

“You deserve a relaxing day off, my dear. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be home by dinner.” He blew a kiss before leaving.

It was really quite a successful trip. It would have been quicker to have been driven out, clearly, but the buses ran almost on schedule and it was a pretty route outside the city. The collector, an erratic old man by the name of Shadwell, had a few interesting books on the history of witch trials that had certainly seen better days. He bought the books off him for cheap and was keen to get them home and into a better state of repair.

The summer sun had just started to set when Aziraphale’s keys jangled in the lock. Swinging the door open, he called out “Home, dear!” and let his keys clatter into the dish near the door. Something in his stomach swooped at the simple domesticity of returning home to a partner and announcing your arrival, knowing they would be as excited to see you as you to see them.

Crowley slid down the wooden hallway in socks, eyes bright like a puppy. “You’re back!”

“Yes, sorry I’m a bit late, I always forget to account for traffic with buses.” He enveloped Crowley in his arms, pulling the taller man in for a kiss. “Did you eat yet?”

“Nope.” Crowley kissed him again, just a peck between words. “You said you’d be home, so I waited. I made lasagna! It’s in the oven, we can heat it up real quick if you’re hungry now.”

Aziraphale kissed him once again. “That sounds delightful, thank you.”

Crowley hurried into the kitchen, fussing with the oven, while Aziraphale left his satchel on the desk. He carefully unpacked his prizes, caressing the books’ covers and gently leafing through the pages once more. He already had a list in his mind of everything these poor dears needed. New binding, certainly, and the edges of the book block would need some love. He was lost in thought for a few minutes before he realized Crowley had been speaking.

“Sorry, my dear, I was somewhere else entirely, what did you say?”

“Was just asking which wine you’d like with dinner.”

“Oh, whatever the chef recommends.” He smiled across the flat. Crowley grumbled something that sounded mostly affectionate before rooting around in the liquor cabinet.

“It’s a bit warm in here, isn’t it?” He moved to open a window, but Crowley raced across the room to beat him to it.

“It’s because of the oven. Sorry, angel, I probably should have thought of that. Lasagna is more of a winter meal, eh?” He wore a self-deprecating kind of smile that ruffled Aziraphale’s feathers.

“You certainly don’t need to apologize for making me dinner.” Aziraphale scowled, and Crowley huffed a quiet laugh.

“Why don’t you sit? It should be ready in a minute, I’ll bring it over.”

“Oh, well, I’ll just set the table.” Aziraphale began to head for the kitchen and Crowley physically blocked his path.

“No! It’s all right, I’ll do everything. You just relax.”

Aziraphale raised one eyebrow, suspicious. Coming home to a ready-made dinner was lovely enough, but it was clear Crowley was trying to go above and beyond for some reason.

“Have I forgotten my own birthday?”

Crowley rolled his eyes as he grabbed silverware from the kitchen. “Why are you acting so weird? Can’t I spoil the man I love every once in a while?” He pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s head as he passed, setting the table. “Sit, luv.”

Aziraphale obeyed, watching Crowley closely. As he moved through the kitchen, Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice that the room seemed cleaner than it had in a while – maybe in years. He wasn’t a messy person, by nature, but something about owning a bookshop had increased his tolerance for dusty surfaces. Looking now, the kitchen gleamed like it hadn’t in quite some time. He hoped that Crowley didn’t spend his entire day off cooking and cleaning, the poor dear.

“Pinot?” Crowley returned to the table with two glasses and a bottle in hand. He uncorked the bottle and poured out an ounce of wine into Aziraphale’s glass. After a moment’s confusion, Aziraphale took it and tasted it, as if Crowley was a sommelier at a restaurant.

“It’s divine, my dear.” Crowley looked satisfied and poured them two proper glasses, setting the bottle down and returning to the kitchen.

Not that Aziraphale didn’t like being waited on, he loved the dining out experience, but here, in his home, with his partner, it felt… unnerving.

The oven dinged and Crowley walked over with a steaming lasagna pan in tow. He set it on the table between them before finally taking a seat.

“Smells wonderful, my dear. Thank you.”

“S’no trouble. I figured, I had the day off, might as well make myself useful.” Crowley managed to extricate a hefty slice of lasagna and he reached over to deposit it on Aziraphale’s plate.

“Well, I appreciate the meal, but I do hope you took some time to rest today. It’s been such a long time since your last day off.” Aziraphale took his first bite and the complexity of flavors made his eyes bulge. “Oh, my dear, this is amazing! Is this homemade tomato sauce?”

Crowley grinned, self-satisfied. “Yup. Fresh tomatoes from the farmers market and everything.”

He marveled at the flavor before digging in with gusto. Conversation flowed as the meal progressed, and he told Crowley all about the strange collector he had met. Throughout the conversation, the redhead seemed anxious, as if waiting for bad news to come. When they finished eating, he nearly leapt out of his seat to start clearing the dishes.

“Are you quite sure you’re alright, Crowley?”

He stopped moving, over the sink, yellow eyes fearful. He made eye contact with Aziraphale and braced himself for some sort of plunge.

“Are you upset with me?”

The question hung between them for a moment in perfect silence. Crowley held his breath, waiting for a response. Aziraphale, in shock.

“Of course not, why would you think that?”

“I just – well, normally you bring me along on your errands, and today you didn’t want me.”

“Crowley, I could never not want you. I merely realized recently that we spend quite a lot of time together, and we hardly get any time to ourselves. Between work and having moved in together, I wanted to make sure you felt like you had enough space.”

His tone turned desperate. “Do you want space from me? My old place in Mayfair, I’m sure they’ve rented it out to someone new, but I can look for something else, or I can crash with a friend for a while, or-“

“No, that’s not what I meant at all! I just-“ Aziraphale exhaled heavily. Why was it, that after every minor hiccup they encountered, this was Crowley’s first thought? That he was angry, or that he had realized that Crowley wasn’t good enough for him. As if Aziraphale had _ever_ been angry with him. He dabbed at his lips with his napkin, regaining his composure. He supposed he’d put this off for long enough.

“Darling, I think it’s time we talked about this properly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally the Conversation was part of this chapter but it got way long so.. next time!


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: vague talk of past noncon, victim blaming, manipulation

“Darling, I think it’s time we talked about this properly.” He rose and moved to the couch and patted the cushion beside him, waiting for Crowley to sit down. He approached and sat at the far end of the couch, knees pulled up to his chin as if he was trying to make himself appear small.

“Talked about what?”

“I’ve noticed a troubling pattern, my dear. Sometimes, when things go awry through no fault of your own, you get scared that I’ll be angry with you. Sometimes, even when things don’t go awry. You thank me excessively for things that I do that are just basic kindness, or common courtesy. You act as though you’d allow me to dictate your time, who you socialize with, where you go with your friends – rather, you seem to expect it of me, and you seem surprised and confused when I do not try to control you that way. It makes me worry, my love, that you either don’t know what you need from this relationship, or that you do but you’re too scared to tell me.” He took both of Crowley’s hands in his own, ducking his head to try to capture his eyes. “You’re not going to lose me if you set a boundary. You don’t need to be afraid of not being enough, not deserving me, being a burden. None of those things could ever be true.”

Crowley’s eyes flickered between Aziraphale’s and their held hands. He ducked his head again, trying to hide his expression behind a curtain of red hair, but Aziraphale saw the tears beginning to form in those golden eyes.

“So, I’m going to explicitly set some boundaries, and if you take issue with any of them, I’d like you to speak up. First of all, we need to find a way to build alone time into our schedules. We both work odd hours and weekends, so it will take some doing, but both of us need time to ourselves, to recharge. It has nothing to do with loving each other less, or not wanting each other around, it’s simply something that everyone needs in small doses. Okay?”

Crowley nodded.

“Secondly, and maybe most importantly, if either party starts to disengage or dissociate or clearly panic during sex, we stop immediately. Okay?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “That one’s obvious.”

Aziraphale crooked an eyebrow at him. “I would agree, dear, but you had a difficult time applying that logic to yourself not so long ago.” He watched Crowley’s mouth twist sadly before deciding to roll onward.

“Third, we each deserve time spent with our friends, outside the context of each other. I will never begrudge you your friendships, just as I hope you will never begrudge me mine. Does that sound fair?”

“I-“ Crowley’s voice cracked and he stopped to clear his throat. “My ex didn’t like me goin’ out drinking. Was always worried I would cheat on him.”

“That’s no excuse for-“

“I did, though.” Crowley looked up, eyes a mixture of self-loathing and defiance. “He was right. I went out with a few people I don’t hang around with any more, people from a bad scene, and we went to some seedy place and got smashed. Next I remember, some bloke I don’t know’s got me pinned to the wall of a bathroom stall.” Crowley swallowed hard. “I don’t – the memory is fuzzy but after that night I wasn’t allowed out without my ex around. He didn’t trust me when I said I was hanging out with anyone else.”

Aziraphale’s heart broke. He spoke softly, as if to soothe a wounded bird. “Crowley, you know that wasn’t your fault. You know that, if you say yourself that you can’t remember it, it couldn’t have been… well, consensual.”

A heavy breath. “Yeah, I know that now. But still, my ex’s logic made sense. I went out, I got drunk, I came home having been fucked by someone else. My consent wasn’t really a part of the equation, in his mind.”

“Well, _fuck_ him.” Crowley’s eyes shot up at Aziraphale’s swear.

(In truth, he loved to swear, but he often chose not to do it so that when he did, it garnered a reaction.)

“You are not a thing to own, a prize to be kept on a shelf. You are a person, with agency, and you deserve to come and go as you please, without fear of retribution from anyone. Least of all a partner, someone who is supposed to give you _love_ and _compassion._ You had just been violated, for god’s sake! _”_ Aziraphale grew truly heated, his face flushing gradually from the neck up. He saw Crowley’s eyes widen and felt his hands shake. Fear. He was _scaring_ his love with his righteous anger. He took a deep breath to tamp down on it.

“I’m sorry for getting heated, my love, I just hate to hear that such terrible treatment has been shown to such a wonderful and kind soul.” He brought their hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s knuckles.

Crowley wouldn’t meet his eye. “I mean, it wasn’t all bad. For a while after that, I started getting panic attacks during sex – like, you know, like I did with you that one time – and he usually let me just hurry up and suck him off instead of going all the way.”

Aziraphale gaped, trying and mostly failing to suppress his disgust. “ _That_ is what passed for _kindness?”_

“Well saying it out loud, it sounds kind of shitty.” He grimaced. “I guess, in retrospect, it was.”

Aziraphale shook his head, eyes unfocused. “Oh this man is very lucky I will never meet him because I would have some _words.”_

“Alright, easy, my avenging angel.” He patted Aziraphale’s hands. “What’s next on the grocery list?” Humor as a shield again.

“What are we on now, four?” Crowley nodded. “Both of us have a right to privacy. No searching phones, no reading mail, no overbearing insistence that the other party tell a story they might not be ready to share. In this, I have overstepped the boundary, and I do apologize.” He gave a wan smile, disappointed with himself.

Crowley’s mask of humor was gone again, and he looked down, shying from Aziraphale’s intensity. “S’alright, angel, you were just worried.”

“I appreciate your understanding but that is no excuse. May I take it that I’m forgiven?”

Crowley half-smiled, at last. “Of course.”

“Thank you. I have just one more- neither of us is owed thanks simply for adhering to these boundaries. These are simple rules to ensure that we both remain happy and healthy, and that the relationship stays based in mutual respect. Acting according to them is not inherently praiseworthy.” Aziraphale reached out to tip Crowley’s head up, reconnecting their eyes. “I am asking, please, do not _thank_ me for refraining from mistreating you.”

“I just- I get taken off guard because you treat me _so well_.”

“I treat you like a _person,_ darling. A person that I love. It breaks my heart to hear that this may be the first time someone has treated you as such, but it is not because I am remarkable. I should hope that, if our relationship ever ends, you would never accept any less ever again. This? This conversation we just had, about boundaries, and trust, and respect? These are things you should _expect_ from a relationship. You’re worth this and so much more, dear boy.”

Crowley’s eyes swam again and he nodded, finally relaxing and unfurling his legs. “Keep reminding me?”

Aziraphale bundled the redhead into his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “As often as you need, my dear.”

They sat in warm silence for a while, letting their thoughts tumble. Crowley seemed to be almost dozing, so Aziraphale roused him and helped them relocate to bed. Once they were wrapped up together, a final thought occurred to Aziraphale.

“Can I ask plainly – why did you make such an elaborate dinner tonight?”

“I spose, when you left without me today, I thought you were upset with me for some reason, so I was trying to apologize.”

“You made me an apology lasagna, over something you feel you must have done wrong even though you had no idea what that might have been?”

“Well it sounds absurd when you say it!” Crowley half-heartedly swatted at Aziraphale, who just laughed.

“Thank you for dinner, darling, but next time you feel that way you should just ask.”

“Deal. Probably easier, anyway. Homemade tomato sauce takes _ages,_ Aziraphale.”

“Well, it all turned out wonderfully.”

“Yeah” Crowley smiled softly at him in the dim light. He pressed a kiss to their held hands. “It really did.”


	7. 7

Aziraphale leaned against the kitchen counter and checked his pocket watch for the third time in as many minutes.

“Darling, we really need to get going!” They had tickets to see Hamlet tonight at the RSC, and while the theater wasn’t far, Aziraphale did like to arrive a bit early so he could read the program.

“Just a second!” Crowley shouted from the bathroom.

“My dear boy, the Lord Herself will smite you for your vanity if you spend another minute on your hair!” He joked.

His love swaggered down the hallway and into view, with his copper curls tousled _just so,_ looking intentionally unintentional. He wore a fine black dress shirt with a low-cut, blood red waistcoat. Paired with his tight black jeans and his trademark black sunglasses hanging from his neckline, he looked sharp enough to cut flesh.

“Worth the wait, eh?” Crowley approached Aziraphale with an alluring saunter, clearly enjoying the way his eyes roved his body. He allowed his hips to sway with his every step, looking like sin incarnate and not the least bit repentant. “Like what you see?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and tried to play off the obvious blush that had crept up into his cheeks. “You look like a Bond villain.” He tutted and turned to head for the door.

Crowley grimaced and stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Angel, I-“ He stopped, tripping over his words. His gaze landed on Aziraphale’s shoes, but he held his shoulders squarely, readying himself for some kind of plunge. Aziraphale turned and gave the redhead his full attention.

He heaved a breath and continued. “I don’t like when you make fun of the way I dress. I know you’re just teasing, and I shouldn’t take it seriously anyway because you pretty much always dress like someone’s grandmother’s sofa,” Aziraphale huffed indignantly but did not interrupt- “but I’d rather you didn’t joke like that. It makes me feel like you want me to change how I look. And I like the way I look.” He paused for a moment, rolling those words over in his mind. “I like the way I look, the way I present, and it took a long time for me to get here, to a place where I can present how I want to. So I won’t be. Changing it, that is.” He nodded, as if reassuring himself that he had done the right thing.

Aziraphale had to stop a beaming grin from blossoming across his face. Crowley was _setting a boundary._ Of his own accord! Pride poured through him, knowing that his love was learning to assert himself and his needs. “Of course, my dear, I completely understand. In all honestly, I love your style. It’s so daring, so unique, and dreadfully attractive. I only tease because it is so over-the-top, but I understand why that kind of teasing would be unwelcome. I’m sorry to have made you feel like I would ever want you to change. That’s very much not the case. I’ll stop at once.”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and kissed it. “Are you mad at me?” His stance had relaxed but his eyes were wary, as if he mostly knew the answer but he just needed to check.

Aziraphale covered their held hands with his own. “Of course not, darling. I’m quite proud of you. When you set a boundary like this, it helps me know that you _are_ aware of what you need and you _are_ confident enough in my love to ask for it. It’s, in some ways, a compliment. And a touching show of trust. Thank you for mentioning it, my dear. I love you.”

Crowley smiled wryly and leaned in for a proper kiss. “I love you, angel.” He leaned back and offered his elbow. “Shall we head over?”

Aziraphale blushed and took his wing. “Let’s. And may I say, I’m sure I will be the envy of the entire house, being on the arm of such a dashing gentleman.”

Crowley smiled and rolled his eyes as they headed for the door. “Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our boys are all right


End file.
